


Date Night

by whatdidyouexpect (youdbetterbeready)



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Battleworld (Marvel), Gossip, Loki Lives (Marvel), M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Snarky Tony Stark, Sushi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26613025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdbetterbeready/pseuds/whatdidyouexpect
Summary: "It's Tony and," Natasha squints, "... Loki. Loki?""Loki," Clint confirms.
Relationships: Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 109





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patientalien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/gifts).



> Still enjoying playing in the muddy aftermath of season four of Avengers Assemble, aka Loki gets sucked into the All-Dark and reappears in another series and nobody says anything about it again AMONG OTHER IMPORTANT DETAILS THAT STILL NEED CLARITY, hint hint, Marvel. As a result, this story contains a lot of my head-canon for a third-tier character arc, all of which I will definitely probably maybe write a whole butt ton of meta about. Assume adjacent-Thorki(/Stony, etc.) for all of my Frostiron stories unless otherwise indicated. P.S.: Frostiron is still REALLY FUN to write.

Rooftops are their thing, his and Natasha's, a habit borne of a shared appreciation for thin air (less talking) and clear sky. So when Natasha texts him about his current whereabouts, Hawkeye's response is simply, "up here."

As they eat lunch together, Natasha would be a terrible spy-slash-friend not to notice Clint's preoccupation. "Hey," she says, snapping a little, "I can tell you're looking past me. What are you staring at?"

"I'll show you when it happens." Natasha tucks into her sandwich as Clint's eyes scan the skies. Soon enough, "They're here." The archer points with unrivaled precision, and Natasha's gaze follows.

"It's Tony and," Natasha squints, "... Loki. Loki?"

"Loki," Clint confirms. Though his presence near the Tower has come to be expected, however begrudgingly, in the wake of Battleworld (and the aftermath of Battleworld), the fact that he's practically arm-in-arm with Tony Fucking Stark at the moment is much more Interesting.

... or so he thinks, anyway: "Huh," Natasha says. "Weird."

Hawkeye gapes at her. "Come on, that's all?" Absently, his mind cataloges the observation that Loki appears to be wearing Earth clothes, perhaps even semi-formal wear. "What do you think they're doing together?" he presses.

Clint would be a pretty bad Hawkeye-slash-friend if he didn't notice a small spike in Natasha's exasperation. "Getting food, maybe?" She pauses to polish off her sandwich. "Didn't they basically spend all day together on Battleworld?" Then, possibly to ease any perceived tension between them, Natasha peers more closely down at the unfolding mystery(?) below. "They're leaving," she announces shortly. "In one of Stark's cars, it looks like. I'm pretty sure Tony's capable of defending himself against Loki."

"I don't know," Clint says dubiously, "They were both dressed kinda fancy for a brawl." 

Natasha continues to be maddening and shrugs. "They're both egotistical, petty, and recently spent eighteen hours a day building an interplanetary Bifrost together. They're basically always going to be either fighting or fucking."

"Come on," Clint complains; the mental image is enough to at last successfully pull his gaze away from its source. "Weird," he finally agrees, and then, a moment later, he eagerly accepts Natasha's proffered potato chip. 

*

In spite of Natasha's nonplussed reaction to what he knows they both witnessed, Clint's thirst has yet to be fully quenched. Fortunately, several of the compound's residents are considerably more talkative than his usual partner in crime, and a lot more frequently on location, as well.

Unfortunately, none of them seem to care very much either. 

"I'm just saying that it's strange. Don't you think it's strange?"

Falcon shrugs. "Battleworld was strange. It was probably a relief to be around anything - anyone - familiar. When in Rome, you know?" The discussion persists alongside a spate of mutual tinkering - Falcon with some flechettes, Hawkeye with his trademark arrows: "When I was stuck in the 30th century for like, four years," Falcon continues, "Everything was so different. Pretty much everyone I knew from the 20th century was gone. It was a relief whenever something familiar popped up; bittersweet, but it still helped."

"For the record, being trapped in the 1940s wasn't exactly a picnic," Clint complains.

"Sure," Sam acknowledges. "Still, you had Widow and Cap along for the ride. I had Kang."

"He had me, too." Scott Lang, aka Ant-Man chimes in, person-sized currently, and breezes into the lab. "I mean, I got there eventually. Not that a World War II-era military base was my number one choice for a vacation." Eyeing Falcon, he adds, "You did get that cool 30th century makeover." He looks around the room. "Either of you seen Tony today? He's not in any of his usual hot spots."

Clint's expression brightens. "As a matter of fact, we were just discussing his whereabouts."

"Oh yeah? He got a hot date or something?"

"Funny you should put it that way." Clint leans in conspiratorially. "You'll never guess who we've seen him spending time with."

"Who he's seen, anyway," Falcon corrects. 

"Yeah, yeah." Clint waves a hand. "Spoiler alert: It's Loki."

"Huh." Scott appears to consider this. "I mean, assholes attract other assholes, I guess."

"Come on, you don't think it's, I don't know." Clint exhales sharply through his nose. "Someone should keep an eye on the whole situation, at least."

"Pass," Falcon asserts, but pats Clint on the shoulder. "But I have faith that you'll be able to handle this particular recon mission on your own."

Clint sighs. "You in, at least?" he asks Scott, but is once more left disappointed ("Why do ants need family therapy?"). "Why isn't anyone taking this seriously?!" he wails dramatically.

"Sorry, man." Scott makes a half-hearted attempt to appear sympathetic. "Stark's a big boy. He can probably deal with Loki's wiles on his own; among other things," he adds. Falcon fake coughs to (poorly) hide a guffaw. 

The conversation eventually moves on to other topics, though Clint is once more left dissatisfied as it concludes. His biggest obstacle, he decides, is being surrounded by so many brilliant, logical, scientific big brains. What he needs, in fact, is someone a little less complex; a little more ... simple.

*

He finds Hulk downstairs in the communal living area, hogging the room's video game corner, as per usual; at least half of it, anyway. "Can I play?" Clint asks, eyeing the not often free controller currently lying on the gigantic couch.

"Thor's coming back," Hulk grunts. Sure enough, the God of Thunder's sure, heavy footfalls are soon audible and moving closer to them; until: "Almost gave Hawkeye your controller 'cause you were taking so long, Blondie." The Hulk's voice is gruff, but its tone is, perhaps surprisingly, almost affectionate. 

"Forgive me, friend Hulk. Our mighty conquest has required me to slake my hunger and thirst." Thor's big arms are saddled with all manner of snacks. "Hello, Hawkeye," he nods. "It has been far too long since I have tasted glorious battle!"

Pausing in assisting Thor with his many food boxes and bags and even a few plates, Hawkeye's brow furrows. "We battled robot dinosaurs like, five days ago."

"Aye!" Thor enthuses. Behind tinted pastel shades, Hawkeye rolls his eyes.

"So," he ventures, trying to sound nonchalant, "Where, uh, where's your brother?"

Thor pauses mid-chew to reply: "He's around," he shrugs. "Admittedly, I have been engaged in mighty battle with Hulk for most of the weekend."

Harried, Hawkeye stifles a sigh. "Hulk, how 'bout you?" he asks. "Uh, have you talked to Iron Man today?"

"About what? " Hulk takes a single swig of soda from a two-liter bottle, tosses the empty container aside, and then burps. Then, with surprising shrewdness adds, "You're acting weird, Arrow Boy."

"Come on, can't I at least be Arrow Man?" Clint protests.

"No."

Clint vacillates sharply, frustrated at how dissatisfying his efforts to spill Tony and Loki's beans, so to speak, have been so far. Attempting to employ a different tactic, he looks at Thor. "Uh. So when did you see Loki last?"

Thor's returned gaze is uncharacteristically sharp, alert. "Has something happened to Loki?" It's a loaded question, and not at all where Clint has been trying to steer the conversation. Now that damage control is required, he waves his hands frantically. 

"He's fine, really!" For Loki these days, this seems to mean that he is not currently in the throes of a bender following the acquisition of this week or that's magical artifact. In spite of Clint's poor attempt to act casual ("Ace spy skills"; his inner critic had Natasha's voice), he suddenly realizes that he is very much in the line of fire, should his news about Thor's mischievous brother not be to his liking. With a gulp, Clint adds, "I thought I saw him and Tony together; like on the street. I mean, until they got in a car together and drove off. They were dressed all fancy, too."

Hulk snickers. "Did you see what kind of underwear they were wearing, too?" 

"Come on, it's weird. Possibly dangerous. I mean, who knows what those two might get up to if left to their own devices."

"They built a Bifrost together the last time," Hulk supplies. 

Wearily, Clint brings a handful of potato chips to his mouth, stuffing it momentarily full. Chewing, he racks his brain for possible retorts. "I guess I was surprised to see Loki with anyone besides Thor."

Thor pauses before responding. "I ... am glad Loki is making friends here. It is not something he does easily."

Hawkeye is now putting considerable effort into not losing his shit. "Am I the only one who doesn't think this is super weird?!" 

"Yep," Hulk snorts. 

"Aye," Thor asserts.

Clint sighs. "Et tu, Thor?" 

Thor's brow furrows. "There is only one true Thor. Who is this second Thor; where is the impostor? Surely he does not wield Mjolnir!"

Hulk's response isn't much better: "Since you wanna practice French so badly, go make us some fries."

Slinking towards the kitchen in defeat, Clint's face sets into a scowl. "No one appreciates me around here," he mutters to himself. 

As if on cue, Hulk calls out to him: "Hey, Arrow Boy, don't forget the ketchup!"

*

"So uh." Tony slides into the expansive backseat of the limo, its only other occupant besides the driver glancing at him as he begins to speak. "Sounds like there's a big ol' game of Telephone making its way around the compound."

"What did I say about the moronic popular culture references?" Loki gripes.

"Limit three per day. Relax and slow your roll, Speed Racer."

"Are you serious!" Loki exclaims. 

"Ha, okay, don't get your Frost Giant undies in a bunch." With Loki still glaring at him, he waves a hand. "I heard about it third-hand: Cap told me, and Falcon told him. Then I had FRIDAY play me some of the compound's security footage."

"Heard what?" Loki says testily.

"Apparently," Tony replies, "the talk of the neighborhood is that a certain billionaire-genius-slash-philanthropist was seen in the company of a certain half-Asgardian demigod, if you know what I mean."

"I do not!" Loki growls, appearing to physically struggle not to conjure one or five of his daggers. 

"Everyone thinks we're boning," Tony finally clarifies.

"Oh." This euphemism was at least a little familiar. "Well, I hope our fake fucking is inspirational to them."

"I mean," Tony shrugs, "I mean, we could do it for real if you want. They already think we are."

Loki pours himself a considerable amount of alcohol from one of several chilled bottles along for the ride. "Well, now," he deliberates, and Tony prepares himself for Loki's trademark snarky rejection. "I'm an old-fashioned girl. You at least have to buy me dinner first."

Tony waves a couple of rectangular slips of card stock in the air. "Uh, yeah, what else did you think the reservation for two at New York City's newest upscale Japanese restaurant and private box seats at the opera were for?"

Loki smirks. "I had wondered, I'll admit." 

A pleasant enough silence lapses between them. Eventually, Tony coughs unconvincingly into his hand. "So this place brags about its hibachi grill and its bar. Oh, and there's Thursday night karaoke, appar-

"I will make out with you until we get to our destination if it will make you shut up for a while," Loki cuts in. 

"SOLD, to the cold-looking gentleman in the front!" Tony's arms stretch overhead in a triumphant 'V' shape. "Perhaps, once the lady has been safely delivered back home to her father later this evening, she'll do me the honor of inviting me in for a night cap."

"Mention my father again, and the deal's off."

"Fair enough," Tony agrees, and is rewarded with the sound of Loki's seat belt unbuckling, and then with Loki himself, plopped in his lap and looking like a spoiled house cat. "I see you went with the silk shirt tonight," Tony says. "What would you say was your inspiration behi- aaahh!" 

"Shut. Up. Stark." Aristocratic fingers loosen their hold on Tony's tie for a moment; then, the same hand wraps itself around the useful neck piece and tugs. It is at that point that the pair fully commits to working up their respective appetites, in more ways than one, as their limo weaves its way through New York traffic, this evening's 'date night' likewise hurtling, mostly steadily, towards its first destination.


End file.
